tickle fight!

I donated heaps of clothing to Goodwill (including a sequined dress that I reeeeally hope to see on a hooker someday, that would be awesome!).  I also donated a stack of books to the Friends of the SF Public Library (who I volunteer for).  And now . . . I want to donate my bass guitar to the rock camp for girls.  Alas, the dropoff spot is in Oregon.  I could ship it.  I wonder how much that would be.  It feels good to clean house.  Donating is fun!   

I’m about to go use some Magners cider as a raft and attempt to float along through the rocky dreariness of the day.   

I made a song tonight with a lot of breathiness and weird old beats, but somehow can’t figure out how to post it.  I consider myself a computer girl.  Maybe I’m not a computer girl after all.  Sniff sniff.

I just saw an ad for a disposable razor with FIVE blades.  I wonder if they’ll just keep adding blades.  

I always think about how I want my writing to be something that I’d also be interested in reading.  This is, however, impossible to measure since reading your thoughts is not quite as fresh and new as thinking them.  Writing is round 2 with the material.  Re-reading it – round 3.  By the time I see my own thoughts on a screen or paper, I’m bored with them.  Not to mention the fact that words appear visually in my mind once I think of them.  Not in shapes or anything abstract.  The actual letters forming words, in kind of a typewriter font.  There is like a little ticker tape in there.  Translation moves slowly when I’m using my mouth to deliver the words rather than my fingers.  Clumsy, clumsy mouth.

Mental illness is something I’ve always had experiences with, whether firsthand or as a witness.  Either way, it makes me sad.  The world exists in the realm of your perception.  If something is out of whack in the trusty old brain, your perception is skewed.  And you see things differently.  People tell you that what you are experiencing isn’t real, but it is just as real as what they are seeing is real to them  . . . their perceptions just fall under the “normal” type of functioning.  No one can tell you that it isn’t really happening, because your perception is playing out right in front of your eyes.  It’s a scary thought.  That one day you could snap and a former tendency toward  eccentricity transforms and grows into a world that no longer feels familiar, safe, or relatable to others.  The isolation has to be the worst part of it all.  I can’t help but think the state of affairs in this country right now sets us up for disappointment and inevitable extreme emotional reactions that spin, spin, spin out of control.  I question my reality every time I read the news.  Like, is this really happening?  I’m trying to throw down an anchor every chance I get.

Ich mochte: 

1. The new Breeders album, Mountain Battles

2.  The complete Dinah Washington and the very best of Sarah Vaughan and the best of Edith Piaf

3.   A favorite bar 

4.  The courage to be vegan for more than two weeks 

5.  An extended weekend in Baja

6.  An alternative news source

7.  A confidante and partner-in-crime

8.  The ability to climb trees very well

9.  A reintroduction to sewing and French lessons 

I’m keeping my dreams to myself from now on!  I received pretty much everything I wanted yesterday and no one was more surprised than me.  Yes, this is vague.  But I can’t say anything more. I still need to get a new bike helmet.  I haaaate wearing a helmet.  But I must.  Sigh.  And I can’t stop buying dresses.  I need to dig into some serious reading.  Every time my brain gets overexcited, it joggles a bit, and ends up off kilter.  Then only literature or intellectual stimulation will tidy it up.  Does that make sense?

I have very vivid sleeping life experiences and waking life experiences and they both feel equally as “real.”  Although I’d have to say there are more constants in my waking life and that means that I am balanced and guided by some sort of construct of sanity while awake.  The sleeping life experiences still have structure, but people appear and interact with me sans backstory.  But it all feels so real and so valid.  I dreamt of someone I barely know the other night and we kissed.  And he said that he liked me.  And I felt so relieved.  Like that was the thing I had been waiting to happen for 1,000 dreams.  The whole problem with the sleeping life v. waking life thing is that sometimes my sleeping life desires slip into my waking life desires and vice versa.  I’m currently trying to plug up a leak.  My desires are complicated enough.